


'Til all my scars bleed gold

by blackkat



Series: Superhero!AU [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Fluff, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, On the Run, Porn With Far Too Much Plot, Secret Identity, kind of??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Utakata has no plans to leave Konoha, despite the risk. Not yet. He’s here for a reason, and that reason is a thousand-year-old magical princess and vaguely reformed thief with a shapeshifting familiar.How the hell he’s going to find Foxfire amidst the vastness of Konoha, among all the other heroes here, before someone manages to find him—that’s something Utakata hasn’t really let himself think too deeply on yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haha. Ha. I accidentally wrote far too much terrible porn for one of my favorite crack ships, failed to keep it a PWP, and tripped over a superhero plot. I am very sorry. Suffer with me.

Utakata has had just enough shots to forget what a bad idea this is, but not so many that he can't appreciate the way Iruka kisses, single-minded and overwhelming and enough to take the strength right out of his knees.

“You’re amazing,” Iruka breathes against his mouth, hands clenching around Utakata's waist, and Utakata can't swallow the desperate noise that slips from his mouth as he arches up into the press of Iruka’s body. It’s not the type of thing a drunken hook-up should say, but old gods, Utakata _wants it_ , and he licks into Iruka's mouth, slides his hands up bare arms as Iruka presses him harder into the wall.

“Fuck,” he manages. Iruka is hard against him, and when he rolls his hips in a long slow grind Utakata loses what little control he had managed to cling to on the cab ride here. He loops an arm around Iruka's neck, shoves his body up even as he grabs for the other man’s zipper, and Iruka lets out a noise against his mouth that makes tingles flood through Utakata's limbs.

Then, with a sound that’s almost a whine, Iruka is pulling away, the top button of his jeans undone, and Utakata hisses in aggravation, reaching after him, but a moment later remembers himself and pulls back. Iruka is digging frantically in his back pocket, searching for something, and Utakata can't fight a noise of irritation as he slumps back against the wall.

“Sorry,” Iruka says, breathless and sheepish in equal measure. “But if we keep going here my neighbors are going to get a show.”

The surprise of the words is enough to make Utakata laugh, and he gives Iruka his slyest smile as he slides his hands down his own torso, then up again, dragging his shirt with them. “It won't be a _bad_ show,” he drawls, tilting his head back with a faint smirk to bare his neck.

Iruka groans, low and desperate, and abandons his search for his keys to shove Utakata up against the wall again, kissing him urgently. “You,” he only just gets out before Utakata drags him back in for another wet kiss, “are _not fair_ , god.”

Utakata leans up into him, fingers working at the tie in his hair even as he loops an arm around Iruka's shoulders. He drags his fingers over defined biceps, down corded arms, and hums mock-thoughtfully. “You looks so strong. Do you think you can pick me up? Fuck me against the wall?” he breathes in Iruka's ear as that hot mouth skims his jaw.

There's a sharp inhalation that makes him smile, and dark hair tumbles around Iruka's shoulders as the tie comes loose. Utakata ghosts a hand down his spine, over the ribbed tank top and down to the waistband of his jeans. Another kiss takes his mouth, deep and thorough, and Utakata groans, sliding his fingers into Iruka's back pocket and dragging him closer. He grinds up, their cocks rubbing through thick fabric, and Iruka gasps, bites at his lips and pushes in harder. It knocks the breath right out of Utakata, makes him arch into the press of Iruka's broader body, and he wraps dark brown hair around his fingers to get Iruka's mouth that one centimeter closer as he deepens the kiss, tastes the fading edge of alcohol on Iruka's tongue and the sweetness behind it.

“We—I need to find my—” Iruka starts dragging his mouth away, but his lips are kiss-bruised, his hair wild and his eyes blown dark, and Utakata surges in to kiss him again, _want_ pounding through his blood in a way he hasn’t allowed in months. Iruka makes another noise, somewhere between appreciation and protest, and—

The jangling of keys makes him pull back and glance up, blinking. Utakata gives him a sly smile, swinging the key ring around his finger, and asks innocently, “These?”

Iruka laughs, bright and warm, and steals them back, giving Utakata another quick kiss before he leans past him to unlock the door beside them. A step inside, flicking the lights on with one hand, and then he spins Utakata around, pressing him up against the door as it closes. Utakata doesn’t mind at all, dragging Iruka along with him so that he’s pinned against the wood. He gets his hand in silky hair, cupping the back of Iruka's skull as their mouths slant together in a sloppy kiss, and hums, glad for the heat that curls through him.

“Bed?” he asks, and bites Iruka's lip lightly, tugging gently at it with his teeth. “Or did you like my wall idea?”

Iruka makes a hungry sound, gets his hands under Utakata's shirt and splays his fingers over his stomach, rubbing lightly. “As much as I _do_ like the idea, we’d probably break right through the drywall. And I have a nice bed.”

“I am totally willing to be pounded through a mattress,” Utakata agrees easily, and Iruka whimpers against his mouth, shoving forward to get a leg between Utakata's thighs. He pushes up, driving the air from Utakata's body on a gasp, and shoves his jacket off his shoulders. It drops to the floor, and a moment later Utakata's shirt follows it. Then Iruka's knees hit the ground, and his mouth is like a brand against Utakata's stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the black lines of the tattoo inked there. Utakata whines, gets his hands in Iruka's hair again but doesn’t pull, just holds on as fumbling hands undo his jeans and drag them down. Utakata kicks them to the side, shoves his boots off as fast as possible, and then Iruka is pushing him back against the wood again.

“God,” Iruka breathes against his skin. “I want you so much.”

Utakata couldn’t answer him if he tried, mind entirely stalled on the drag of Iruka's tongue as his hands shove Utakata's pants and underwear to the floor. He scrapes his teeth across Utakata's hip, then down, and Utakata's voice breaks on a cry as Iruka licks over his cock, light enough to be a tease.

“Shh,” Iruka murmurs, though his eyes are wicked as he casts a glance up at Utakata through his hair. “Thin walls, remember?”

Utakata whimpers, just enough presence of mind left to clamp a palm over his mouth as Iruka drags his tongue up his shaft, then slides his mouth down. His knees tremble, and it’s been so long since he even got himself off that this can't last, especially when Iruka swallows him down. Utakata shouts, hips jerking only to be shoved back by Iruka's hands, and that’s hotter than it has any right to be, the fact that Iruka can pin him down. He tries to gasp out a warning, but Iruka's licking back up his cock, laving the head and then going down on him again, throat working. Utakata's cry is too loud, even muffled, and Iruka moans around him.

The burning in Utakata's blood becomes a wildfire, and he just manages a sharp, “Iruka!”

Iruka pulls back, leaving Utakata gasping at the sudden absence, and casts a glance up at his face. He presses a kiss to Utakata's thigh, teeth scraping lightly, and then asks thoughtfully, “If I finish you off like this, can you come again?”

The question is enough to make Utakata groan, fingers tightening in Iruka's hair as he drops his head back against the door. “I— _yes_ , yes, _please_. Please, just—”

Iruka hums, kisses his stomach. “I like that,” he says, almost gently. “You're so pretty when you're desperate.”

Before Utakata can manage a coherent response, Iruka takes him in again, all the way down until his nose is buried in dark curls. He swallows, finger pressing up hard behind Utakata's balls, and Utakata _wails_ as everything flares white-hot. His vision greys out, the world wavering, and feels his knees buckle. There are hands on him even as he falls, though, strong palms splayed out over his sides guiding him down until he’s practically sprawled on Iruka's lap with his knees on either side of Iruka's hips, trying to remember how to breathe.

Iruka kisses him, slow and gentle and full of banked heat. “God, you're pretty,” he says, laves at the rapid flutter of Utakata's pulse in his throat as his hands slide slowly up until he can pinch Utakata's nipples lightly. Utakata moans, shuddering, and grinds down on the bulge pushing up between his thighs.

With a hiss, Iruka bucks up, grinding against oversensitive flesh, and Utakata cries out, only to have Iruka steal the noise right from his lips. This kiss is deeper, harder, sloppy and wanting, and Utakata wills limbs to work as he drapes his arms around Iruka's shoulders.

“Sorry,” he whispers against Iruka's lips, carefully grinding down again.

Iruka makes a sound of amusement, breaking away. “For making my ego expand exponentially?” he asks with a warm smile, rubbing his thumbs along Utakata's ribs. “Making a beautiful person like you come so quickly is the best thing that’s happened to me all month.”

Utakata can't help but laugh at that, and it feels…warm. He’s been alone for years, running and hiding and always looking over his shoulder, and at some point the cold settled in his bones in ways that scattered nights in hotels hasn’t been able to cure. Human contact, _admiring_ eyes instead of calculating gazes—

That’s something he hasn’t allowed himself, but it feels so _good_.

This whole night was a stupid idea, but maybe it wasn’t a _bad_ one.

“Bed,” he reminds Iruka, leaning in to drape his arms around the man’s shoulders, nuzzling at his throat. The fading glow of his orgasm makes him languid, but there's still heat there, waiting to be fanned back into a fire. It’s been a long time, and Utakata is happy to indulge in as much pleasure as he can wring out of the next few hours.

Iruka shudders against him, groaning hoarsely against his ear, and his hands clench on Utakata's sides hard enough to twinge.

Deep inside, something sparks. There's a flicker, as if something vast and ancient just opened one eye to look around, and a faint swirl of cool blue light banks the heat in Utakata's limbs. His breath catches, even as Iruka kisses him again, and he shoves a desperate _no no no I'm fine_ at the presence.

A hesitation, then an acknowledgement. The feeling slips back down into the depths, heat sliding in to fill the void, and Utakata hums with relief, slanting his mouth over Iruka's to deepen the kiss. Iruka makes an interested noise right back, tongue tangling with Utakata's, and when they part he says, “Bed. Uh, yes. Can—can you let me up?”

That flush is really cute, Utakata thinks, unable to help a smile. Especially in light of what they just did. “If my legs will hold me,” he teases, then presses a kiss to the corner of Iruka's mouth and gets his feet under himself, rising carefully.

Iruka follows him up, hand immediately finding Utakata's like he can't stop touching him, and he pulls Utakata across the half-lit living room and down a short hall. The bedroom door is obvious, and as they stagger across the threshold, Utakata takes his chance to shove Iruka's tank top up, admiring the lean muscles beneath as he drags it over the man’s head. Iruka laughs, but shrugs it off, and when Utakata unzips his jeans and shoves them down, he trips out of his shoes, almost staggering as he hits the edge of the bed. Nothing underneath the pants, Utakata notes with something like avarice, and that can't have been comfortable, but the thought of all this skin having been so close all night—he likes it. He likes it very much.

“You’re so hot,” he says admiringly, only to be interrupted as Iruka makes an impatient noise and drags him onto the mattress after him. Utakata laughs, startled, as his knees hit the blankets, and he overbalances, falling forward to land on his hands on either side of Iruka's head. Their noses are bare centimeters apart, too close for Utakata _not_ to kiss him, so he does. It’s thorough and filthy, and Utakata moans as a hand finds his ass, squeezing hard. He rocks into the touch, feels Iruka hum beneath him, and when they pull apart Iruka's eyes are heavy-lidded and dark with lust.

“I didn’t ask,” Iruka says, and it’s thick in his mouth. “But—what do you want? Top, bottom?”

Utakata hesitates, torn, because Iruka is gorgeous, and the thought of sliding into his body, fucking him until he falls to pieces, is very tempting. But even more than that—

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, and feels the sharp breath Iruka takes. “I want you to make me _scream_.”

Iruka groans desperately, and in an instant Utakata's hitting the mattress on his stomach, Iruka's weight on top of him. “Like this?” the man breathes into his ear, rutting into him, and Utakata gasps at the feel of his cock sliding between his legs to bump against his own erection. It’s thick and velvet-hot, and he pushes back, desperate to get it inside of him.

“Any way,” he promises, the words spilling out. “Anything you want. Tell me, just—please, I—”

“Shh.” A kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck, open-mouthed and wet, and then Iruka bites down just hard enough to make the edge of teeth obvious. The sound that tears out of Utakata's throat is wanton, fractured, and he shudders and then goes perfectly still.

“ _God_ ,” Iruka says hoarsely, and he’s fumbling, grabbing for something, but Utakata can't bring himself to move or look when every ounce of his attention is on Iruka's mouth against his skin, the cock still sliding lazily between his thighs. “You're perfect. You’re so beautiful, so good for me, just—like that, good.”

Utakata whines low in his throat, burying his face in the comforter with his hands fisting tight on the fabric. There's a crinkle, a hiss from Iruka as he rolls a condom on, and then his hands are back, sweeping down Utakata's spine to close around his thighs and urge them apart. He kisses Utakata's shoulder and murmurs, “Tell me if you want me to stop,” before a slick finger is pressing against his hole.

Utakata shudders, but manages to get out, “Start—start with two.”

With a groan, Iruka lays his cheek against Utakata's back, hot breath gusting over his skin. There's a pause, but then two callused fingers are pushing into him, sliding in easily as Utakata lets out a sharp breath and forces himself to relax. There's a stretch, a twist, and he presses his forehead against the bed with a quiet whimper as the fingers curl, spread apart, and then drag across his walls. It feels like sheet lightning just beneath his skin, skipping across his nerves. So close, so intimate to have someone else inside of him, even like this, and Utakata can't help but thrust back, trying to get more, deeper, harder. It’s a bad angle to get leverage, though, and Iruka shifts forward and pins him, kissing up Utakata's neck. A bite makes Utakata cry out, and in the same moment Iruka presses another finger in, spreads all three wide and makes Utakata gasp.

Another bite, this one definitely with the aim of leaving a mark as Iruka sucks on the skin, and the fingers withdraw. Shivering, Utakata lets out a sound of protest, but Iruka hums soothingly, stroking his hip, and then presses in again, two fingers and then three, slicker this time and going deeper. Utakata muffles a keen in the blanket as they skim his prostate, then slide back. There's a moan, and Iruka presses hard, sudden enough to make Utakata jolt at the sharp burst of shivery pleasure, a loud cry escaping before he can swallow it. He shoves back, and Iruka gives a strangled laugh and does it again as Utakata rocks back desperately against his hand.

“You're amazing,” Iruka whispers against the shell of his ear, dragging his mouth up the column of Utakata's throat to bite lightly at the tendon there. “Look at you, so gorgeous. God, I want—can I? Are you good?”

Utakata's fairly certain he would say yes to just about anything right now, especially if it would get Iruka inside of him. He can't even manage the words, just a jerky nod as he shudders, but he spreads his legs more, tilts his hips up and braces himself.

The wordless, breathless, _hungry_ sound Iruka makes is all too flattering. He pulls away, slicking himself up, and Utakata has just enough time to feel cold before Iruka's weight is back, pressing him down as knees slide between and under his thighs, spreading him even more open. The broad head of Iruka's cock presses against his hole, and there's a hand on his hip, another guiding Iruka in. Iruka sprawls forward, almost covering him, and presses a messy kiss to his shoulder. “How?” he asks, just barely recognizable with how raspy his voice is, and Utakata moans.

“Hard,” he answers. “I can take it,” which is the understatement of the year, but he can hardly bring himself to mind right now, like this.

Iruka hesitates, but when Utakata grunts in annoyance and shoves back, he groans. “You are _unfair_ ,” he repeats, but one hand takes hold of himself again and then he rocks forward.

Utakata turns his face back into the blankets just in time to muffle his loud cry, the smooth slide and then slow drag as Iruka pulls back making his gut clench in the best way. He tries to lift himself, to move, but Iruka splays a hand between his shoulder blades as the man pushes up, holds him down, and Utakata whines but doesn’t protest. Another slow, slow rocking thrust, a third, a fourth, and Utakata can't do anything but lie there and take it, feel each centimeter of stretch until Iruka bottoms out with a groan.

“God,” Iruka gasps out, fingers curling into Utakata's skin, and he leans forward, head hanging as he grapples for restraint.

Utakata can see it on his face, but he doesn’t _want_ restrain, wouldn’t have picked up a stranger with muscles and a tendency to dominate his kisses if he didn’t. He clamps down on the heavy length inside of him, squirms on Iruka's cock with a breathy, broken cry, and begs, “Iruka _, please_.”

Iruka groans, shivers. He falls forward, sliding deeper, making Utakata gasp, and wraps an arm around Utakata's stomach to hold them together. His hips roll, long and slow, and he draws back, pulling another low keen from Utakata's throat. Then Iruka's fingers tighten sharply on his hip, and he thrusts forward hard, his entire body in the motion. His cock slams in, bottoming out again, and the force of it wrenches a strangled cry from Utakata. He pushes back, tries to get more, but Iruka is already doing it again, falling into a rhythm that shatters Utakata's thoughts. Each thrust lights up his nerves, sends the heat in his stomach spinning in a tightening coil. He scrabbles to brace himself, to hang on, and Iruka is so close, breath on his skin and heat deep inside of him, carving out a place for himself.

“Shh,” Iruka gasps into his ear, and it’s only then that Utakata registers the high, sharp cries he’s making, the desperation in his own voice. He tries to get his legs under him, to participate, but Iruka has him spread too wide, won't let up. Teeth bite at the back of his neck and he gasps, clamping down as Iruka grunts. The impact of his hips is almost bruising, but his cock hits the spot inside Utakata that sends lightning up his spine, and he keens, too loud, unable to care. He rocks back as much as he can, feels Iruka lean back, thrust _up_ , and this time the pleasure almost whites out his vision. He whimpers, the covers coming loose in his grip, tries to get his elbows under him without Iruka's weight on his back.

“More,” he begs, “more, _more_ —”

Another hard thrust, practically lifting his lower body from the bed, and then then arm around his waist is back. There's another around his chest, pulling back as Iruka rocks up into him, and Utakata practically shakes apart as he’s dragged up, falling back against Iruka. Gravity slams him down, drives Iruka's cock so deep that he can't swallow a wail, and he scratches at Iruka's arms, reaches back to grab his shoulder as Iruka mouths at his neck. All he can focus on is the thickness inside of him, pressing deep, withdrawing only to press back in, and the short, hard rolls of Iruka's hips drive more thrusts than not right into the bundle of nerves inside. He gasps, can't find his breath as he tosses his head back to loll on Iruka's shoulder, hands wrapped bruising-tight around the arms holding him up.

Another deep thrust is all it takes, the coil snapping. He’d hardly even realized he was hard again, and coming so soon after last time _hurts_ even as he shatters brilliantly, shakes through his orgasm with a cry trapped in his chest.

He comes back to find himself face-down in the sheets again, Iruka frozen over him. The other man is panting, muscles trembling as he holds back, but when he sees Utakata's eyes flutter open he manages to get out, “All right?”

“Mm,” Utakata sighs, too dazed for words, but he reaches back to grip Iruka's hip, tugs as he lazily rocks back, and he’s languid and fucked-out and still spinning down from his high, but he’s not ready for this to be over. Not when Iruka is still rock-hard inside of him, practically throbbing. It feels _amazing_ , and Utakata has never minded being fucked when he’s oversensitive.

“Keep going,” he finally gets out, rough but hopefully intelligible. “More. I like it.”

The low, wounded noise Iruka makes vibrates through him, and he takes Utakata at his word. He shoves forward, pounding thrusts that rock Utakata hard and make every nerve scream, and he whimpers as he rocks into it, trying to tighten his muscles around the invading length, to pull it deeper, get more. Iruka is gasping words into his skin, unheard but fervent as he chases his own completion desperately, rutting between Utakata's legs. He drags Utakata back, slams into him as he shoves forward to bury his face between Utakata's shoulder blades with a strangled shout, and then goes still.

Utakata reaches back, clumsily strokes his side even as he feels the world swim, and gets a sloppy kiss to his shoulder in return that makes him smile and relax. There are vague thoughts spinning in his head about getting up, finding his clothes and leaving, but for once Utakata is warm all the way through, and he doesn’t want to move.

He’s still trying to summon the willpower when his eyes drift shut, and in a moment sleep is dragging him down, soft and sweet and irresistible.


	2. Chapter 2

Utakata can't remember the last time he woke up this comfortable.

The mattress beneath him is incredibly soft, the comforter is incredibly warm, and there's a drowsy heaviness spun through all of his limbs. He can't remember the last time he slept so well, either, and uninterrupted, _comfortable_ sleep is a blessing beyond words.

He’s alone in the bed, but that’s all right. One-night stands aren’t normally big on cuddling, and as much as Utakata would like the closeness, he’s also fine like this, because he can hear humming drifting through the partially-open door, the faint strains of a music underneath. Iruka is still close by, and that thought curls through Utakata's chest with its own sort of warmth as he sits up, scraping his hair out of his face. His bedhead probably isn’t too terrible, either, since he doubt he moved much last night, due to exhaustion and comfort in equal measure.

Sliding his legs over the edge of the mattress, he stops short, blinking at the sight of hand-shaped bruises on his sides and smeared across his hips, light but definitely present. A little warily, he prods at one, but there's no pain, just discoloration. He doesn’t feel sore, either, and that’s even more surprising.

From inside of him, there's a flicker of attention, and then a vaguely sheepish burst of _I assumed?_ and _made you happy_ and _sorry_. That cool light rises again, the very edges of it making the tattoo on his stomach start to glitter darkly, but before anything can happen Utakata sends back _thank you, appreciated_. _I like them_.

Equal parts happiness and satisfaction rise, and in their wake the feeling subsides, his passenger sinking back into half-sleep. Utakata presses a hand over the tattoo, waiting until the last bits of light have faded before he stands up. His clothes are on the foot of the bed, neatly folded, and the thoughtfulness makes him smile, pulling them on carefully. Everything is still in his pockets, thankfully, and he feels faintly guilty about checking, but not enough to skip doing so. Paranoia is always his first reaction, now, and it’s saved him several times already.

Taking a breath, he smooths out his shirt, then steps cautiously into the hall. He hadn’t seen a second bedroom last night, but then, he hadn’t exactly been paying attention, and he very much doesn’t want to run into a roommate right now. Not when he entirely failed to be quiet last night. Just the thought makes his stomach turn over, nerves and embarrassment in equal measure, but thankfully the short hall is empty. There are good smells coming from the kitchen off the main room, though, and after a quick stop in the bathroom Utakata heads that way, habit keeping his steps soundless.

Iruka is singing along to a cheesy pop song, back turned to Utakata as his ponytail bobs. Nothing is cooking, but the coffee maker is going, and there are a handful of takeout boxes on the table, filled with pastries and several rows of neatly-rolled crepes. It’s clear that Iruka didn’t hear Utakata getting up, and Utakata's surprised enough people—admittedly usually on purpose, but sometimes accidentally—to know he should announce himself.

Carefully, he clears his throat, and says a little tentatively, “Good morning.”

Iruka startles, almost dropping the mug he’s holding, but he fumbles and catches it before he jerks around. His expression isn’t hostile, though; when he sees Utakata, he flushes and offers up a sheepish smile. “Morning. I know it’s bad manners to get out of bed, but you were so deeply asleep, and I thought you might wake up hungry…?” He trails off, flush deepening, and rubs the scar over the bridge of his nose.

He’s so cute, Utakata thinks with warm amusement, stepping into the sunlit kitchen. “Thank you,” he says, and smiles back, just a touch sly. “You were right. Your bed really is comfortable.”

The red spreads all the way to the tips of Iruka's ears, but for a moment concern seems to overcome his embarrassment, and he looks Utakata over carefully, gaze lingering on his throat and the marks mostly covered by Utakata's hair. “Are you okay? I, uh. I know I wasn’t exactly gentle.” He drags a hand over the back of his neck, not quite meeting Utakata's eyes.

Well. Utakata's hardly about to let _that_ stand after last night. Taking a step forward, he cups Iruka's cheek and gently urges his head up. Wide, startled eyes dart to him, and Utakata smiles gently, leaning up to give him a slow, gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling back, and holds Iruka's gaze. “Last night was _amazing_.”

That doesn’t do much of anything for the blush, but at least Iruka is looking at him now. He smiles back, pressing his hand over Utakata's, and leans in to steal a kiss of his own. “You're even prettier now that I'm not tipsy,” he confesses, and even if it’s bashful, it also looks sincere. “I—drunk me must have been really, really drunk to even think of making a move on you.”

Utakata laughs a little, raising a hand to hide it before Iruka can get offended. “I feel the same way,” he confesses, casting a glance over the very obvious muscles in Iruka's arms, the way his button-down clings in all the right places. “Thank goodness for liquid courage, right?”

Iruka chuckles, too, pulling back. “Coffee?” he asks, looking far more settled than a few moments ago. “I can't cook to save my life, but the café at the corner delivers, and I thought—uh. Appetites?”

“We certainly did work up an appetite,” Utakata agrees with amusement, mostly to see Iruka's ears go three shades darker. He slides into a seat at the table, watching Iruka gather cups and a jug of milk, and adds, “Coffee sounds perfect. And the food does, too. Thank you.”

Iruka sets the pot on the table, then hesitates, looking like he doesn’t know whether to take the chair next to Utakata or across from him. After a moment, he picks across, settling into it with another sheepish smile.

“I, uh. Don’t do this much. At all,” he confesses. “Sorry for the awkwardness. I hadn’t planned on picking anyone up, but you were there, and, uh. You have a really pretty smile.”

Utakata can't even remember what he would have been smiling about before Iruka ended up sitting next to him at the bar. Maybe one of the men he’d been vaguely interested in had said something funny, but he can't recall. Iruka was definitely the best part of his night, before and after they left the club.

“I don’t, either,” Utakata tells him, and almost wants to reach across the table to take Iruka's hand. He busies himself pouring coffee instead, and the hot breakfast is enough of a nearly-forgotten luxury that he swipes a croissant without waiting for Iruka to take one first. It’s still warm, and the chocolate in the center is slightly gooey. The first bite is heaven, and Utakata can't be blamed for the mildly obscene noise that escapes him when it hits his tongue.

Flushing a little, he wipes his mouth, then drags his mind off food and back to what he was saying. “I—that’s the first time I've been to a club in years,” he admits, and Iruka wrenches his attention up from Utakata's mouth to meet his gaze with clear surprise. Utakata gives him a crooked smile and a faint shrug, and looks back down at his breakfast. “I wanted to find someone to go home with, but you were—unexpected. In the best way.”

There's a long pause, and then fingers close around Utakata's free hand. He looks up into Iruka's smile and warm eyes, and can't help but smile back.

 

 

They're just finish off the box of pastries between them, feet comfortably tangled under the table and a second pot of coffee almost done brewing, when a shrill ring shatters the silence. Utakata blinks, cut off mid-sentence, and Iruka groans even as he pushes to his feet.

“Sorry, work,” he says, grabbing his phone off the counter. One look at the number and he makes a sound of distinct annoyance, but he answers it anyway. “What part of _day off_ do you not understand?”

Utakata could probably listen in to the other end if he tried, but he determinedly keeps his sharper senses to himself, rubbing a finger over the embossed writing on his mug that advertises the Konoha Aquarium and wondering if it’s safe to go back to his rented locker at the station. He has three more of them, all carefully positioned around the city to look they have equal chances of a quick getaway, but the station one is where he left all of his things. Not a smart move, probably, but then, what part of last night was?

“What?” The annoyance is mostly buried in Iruka's tone, replaced by concern. “No, I can—are you sure? You might need— _yes_ I had fun last night but I'm _fine_ —” A loud squawk of offense that makes Utakata hide a grin. “No I'm not going to _give you details_ , you perv!”

The sheer affront in his tone, accompanied by the wash of scarlet creeping across his face, makes Utakata laugh, muffling it behind a hand. Iruka shoots him a betrayed look, then rolls his eyes at whatever the person on the other end of the line just said. “Yes, thanks, you _did_ ruin my morning, and don’t even pretend you're sorry. You do that every time you open your mouth, anyway, so it’s not like it’s new. …Well, if I'm mean it’s because you _deserve it_ , and Genma will back me up. …Yes, he will. Ask him. _Later_. …Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

With a sigh, he hangs up, rubbing at his scar again. “I—sorry,” he apologizes. “I have to go in to work, are you—?”

Utakata smiles at him, even as his chest twinges faintly. It’s been a good morning, the best he can remember in a very long time, and he’s sorry to see it end. At the same time, though, he’s known since the very beginning that taking even this much time was a massive risk.

“That’s all right,” he assures the other man. “My train to Kiri leaves at noon, so I should probably get to the station.”

Something like disappointment flickers across Iruka's face, but it’s gone a moment later, buried by a faintly hopeful smile. “Do you mind if I walk with you? I'm going there, too. Unless it’s an imposition! I can always take a cab.”

So sweet, Utakata thinks, a touch regretfully. This can't be anything but one night, but in a different world, in a _better_ one—

It’s not a better world, though. It’s just this one, which is fairly terrible, but interspersed with a few bright spots. Utakata's just going to have to deal with Iruka being one of them.

“I’d like that,” he says softly, and means it.

The smile that gets him is cheerful and open, and Iruka pushes away from the counter, looking around. “Did you get enough to eat? I don’t think I have any travel mugs for the coffee, but if you want—”

Even that small bit of care is so unfamiliar, not something Utakata has ever been used to. He touches the back of Iruka's hand, not quite able to help himself, savors the warmth of it and the way Iruka immediately takes his in return, lacing their fingers together. “I’ll be fine,” he says, and it’s true. Utakata knows how to take care of himself. “But thank you.”

Iruka flushes, but his expression is warm and kind as he laughs at himself a little. “Sorry, I'm hovering, aren’t I? I’ll stop.”

Utakata shakes his head but doesn’t answer, finishing the dregs of his coffee and settling his cup carefully in the sink. He wonders for a moment if he should wash it, or if that’s an imposition; he’s never been good at recognizing the boundaries that come with a morning after. After a moment’s hesitation, he rinses it and leaves it there, stepping back and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“The station’s about twenty minutes from here if there are no delays,” Iruka says, back turned as he drags a backpack off the couch and starts sliding things into the pockets. His voice turns wry as he adds, “But this is Konoha. There are _always_ delays. We might be best off leaving now, if you're okay with it.”

“That’s fine,” Utakata agrees easily, and can't help a glance out the wide glass doors that lead out to a neat balcony. The city stretches out beyond, and it’s grey with a coating of smog the sunshine can do nothing to lift, but it’s also…bright. Brighter than Kiri with its ever-present fog, than Kumo with its heavy cloud-cover at all times. Utakata hasn’t seen much of the city, but he likes it so far. Konoha is…hopeful. “You have a lot of heroes here,” he says, and tries to keep the wistfulness out of his tone. In another, better life, maybe he’d have that too. Not this one, though. “It’s nice to feel so safe.”

“Well, they all do what they can,” Iruka says, and Utakata sees the tips of his ears go red again, although Iruka doesn’t look around. His tone is almost bashful, and Utakata blinks, registering the change but unsure what caused it. Pride in his city, probably. Not that that’s a bad thing—Konoha is the kind of place its people _should_ be proud of, for their heroes if nothing else. Then Iruka is straightening, slinging his bag over one shoulder, and he gives Utakata a smile. “Ready to go?”

Utakata nods, accepts his jacket when Iruka picks it up from the back of the chair, and lets the other man hold the door for him on their way out. He takes one last glance back at the apartment as Iruka pulls the door shut, storing up memories for later days, and—

A flash of dull red, just outside the balcony doors.

Utakata stiffens, turning, but before he can get a better look Iruka's shut the door and locked it, is already turning with a smile. It takes effort to force the same onto his own face, but since Iruka doesn’t notice anything Utakata thinks he was probably successful enough. He falls into step with Iruka, heading for the elevators, but he can't fight the sudden prickling along his spine, the feeling that eyes are on him, hungry and hostile. It’s tempting to tell himself that he’s imagining it, that it’s all in his head, but he’s been on the run too long to believe it.

In all likelihood, someone has found him.

Utakata takes a breath, forces it not to be quick and shallow like it wants to be. He smiles when Iruka glances at him, doesn’t obviously check over his shoulder when they step out of the lobby, doesn’t twitch when he sees the streets are mostly empty. A breath in, a breath out, and he reminds himself that the last twenty-four hours were never going to last forever. This was a brief, fleeting moment of trying to feel like he had some semblance of life, and as soon as Iruka leaves it will be over and done with.

“All right?” Iruka asks as they wait for a light to change. He casts Utakata a quick glance before checking the street is clear, and adds a little guiltily, “You look tired.”

It’s—startling, slightly, that Iruka noticed. Utakata's good at a poker face, better at putting on a mask. No one’s seen through it in a long time, but then, maybe it’s just that no one has really cared to look.

“Tired,” he agrees, and doesn’t add the _tired of living like this_ that’s all he can think at the moment. It’s not that he’s tired of _life_ so much as he’s tired of _this_ life. Not that it would matter even if he were the former—he couldn’t change that part even if he tried. And—

“Hey hey hey!” a cheery voice cries from above them, sudden enough to make Utakata jump and whirl, looking for the source. There's a thud, and he jerks his gaze up to find a young woman in purple with black body armor settling on top of an awning. She has deep violet hair and a pair of swords strapped across her back, and a tattoo of a white snake winding up her arm. And, Utakata realizes belatedly, she’s wearing a black domino mask. A superhuman, then, most likely.

“Asp!” Iruka yelps, grabbing Utakata's arm like he’s about to haul the other man behind him.

Utakata has a brief moment to feel panic, wondering if this is a villain instead of a hero, but then Asp laughs, winks, and touches two fingers to her brow in haphazard salute. “Greetings, citizens!” she says cheerfully, and beams at them, an edge of teeth behind it. “You probably don’t want to keep going this way—Akatsuki picked a fight with a street gang and things are getting kind of messy. Most of the next three blocks have been evacuated.”

Instead of looking scared or even mildly worried, Iruka just appears exasperated. “And where’s Lightning when his ex-boyfriend is throwing a fit?” he demands.

Asp giggles, incongruous against the gleam of bladed weaponry. Utakata can see at least six knives from where he’s standing, not even counting the swords. “Oooh, is someone _jealous_?” she sing-songs, and when Iruka abruptly flushes crimson and splutters wildly in denial, she laughs. “Lightning is on his way, and Bane is around here somewhere. And _I'm_ here, so it’s not like they need backup.”

From somewhere further down the street, there's a massive, ringing crash, a shout, and the sound of a muffled explosion. Asp bounces back up, balanced on the balls of her feet, and the grin on her face is the next best thing to bloodthirsty. “Sounds like my cue! Stay safe, lover-boys!”

“I—I—Thank you for your service, Asp!” Iruka blurts out, then then goes crimson. He ducks his head as Utakata casts him a confused glance, and Asp cackles. She gives them another salute, then shoots a grapple into the brickwork of a building across the street and leaps from the awning. A moment she’s gone, but there's a shriek like rage from around the corner.

Iruka scrubs his hands over his face, muttering despairingly to himself, and then grabs Utakata's arm. “Detour,” he announces, apparently determined to ignore all of the last few minutes. “We can cut across East 22nd Street and loop around the plaza. It should only add a few minutes to the walk.”

Utakata lets himself be pulled away, but he casts one last glance after the hero. He doesn’t know many of Konoha's superheroes beyond the big five, and Asp looked young—probably even younger than Utakata's nineteen. Maybe she’s that familiar with everyone, because Iruka was certainly awkward enough for both of them.

“Who is Akatsuki?” he asks instead, because pressing Iruka on his connection to a hero—maybe a crush, but that thought turns uneasily in Utakata's stomach even though it has no right to—isn’t the sort of thing a club pick-up should be doing.

“What,” Iruka corrects, and Utakata wonders if he’s aware that he keeps glancing back towards where the sounds of a fight are getting louder. There's gunfire now, and Utakata hopes Asp was right about everyone having been evacuated. “Akatsuki is a superhuman group. They're…not really heroes? But they're not villains, either. They don’t follow any laws, but I think they try to help as much as they can. Most of the time. The collateral damage can get a bit much, though, if w—if heroes don’t contain it.”

Understandable, Utakata thinks wryly, and this time he’s the one to look back. Maybe they take applications. Not that he’ll have the chance to submit one, if he’s being followed the way he thinks he is. If he’s right, it’s going to be all he can do to lose the tail, maybe get out of Konoha even if that means fewer places for cover. Konoha is a big city, with a lot of people; Utakata can't risk the casualties if they force a confrontation.

The station is ahead of them now, though, five more minutes at the most and he’ll be gone, done pretending he’s any sort of normal person. It aches, a little, in a way Utakata had thought himself immune to after all this time, and he takes a careful breath as they descend the stairs together.

“You know how to get to the rail lines?” Iruka asks, a flicker of worry on his face as he glances over. “The connecting station is four stops on the A train, but if it’s diverted you can switch to the 2 going northbound and—”

“You're sweet,” Utakata says, not quite able to help himself, and laughs a little when Iruka flushes and rubs at his nose. Curling a hand around his arm, Utakata pulls him out of the flow of traffic by the ticket gates and leans in, kissing him gently. Maybe it’s against all the rules of one-night stands, but he wants this. He wants this one bit of kindness, this beautiful man who’s smiling at him without reserve, and just for a moment more he lets himself pretend that he can have him.

“I should go,” he whispers as they separate, and really, he should. He’s wasted too much time already, spent too long in the open. They’ve never gone after the people around him before, even those he’s spent the night with, but if he lingers too long they might decide it’s worth attracting the attention of Konoha's heroes and try it anyway.

“Thank you,” Iruka answers, and he’s still smiling, his fingers sliding through Utakata's hair. “Last night was—amazing.”

Utakata chuckles at the deepening blush, then steps back. There's a large group coming down the stairs, and if he times it right he can slip back to the lockers without Iruka realizing he isn’t headed for Kiri at all. “Goodbye, Iruka.”

“Bye, Utakata.” He lifts one hand in an aborted wave, but before he can even finish it the crowd passes, and Utakata steps into the press, ducking down a little so he’ll get lost in the press of bodies. The momentum carries him back towards the rented lockers, and he slips through the doorway, then hurries to the right number and puts in the combination. It opens with a groaning squeak, and Utakata grabs his tattered knapsack, flipping open the top.

A crystal-blue glow fills the dingy room for half a heartbeat before Utakata pulls a shirt to cover it, and it feels like the first full breath he’s taken since he walked away from this place yesterday.

A whisper from inside him, regret and thankfulness and worry in equal measure, and Utakata presses a hand to his chest, closing his eyes and breathing out. He doesn’t try to say it’s fine or anything of the sort, because they both know it isn’t, but, well. Maybe things aren’t as terrible as they have been in the past, right now.

Shouldering his bag, he checks outside to find that Iruka's already left, and slips up the stairs leading up to the east side of the block. They’ll have guessed that this is where he’s going to come out, probably, but it’s still safer than going back the way he came. No familiar faces jump out at him, no immediate threats present themselves, but Utakata has been on the run too long to trust even a few seconds’ respite. He pulls his hood up over his hair, ducks his head and hopes he looks like any other student on the way to class as he hurries towards the quieter streets.

There are tickets in his wallet, just as he’d told Iruka: a seat on the train headed back towards Kiri, with stops in Yu and Shimo on the way. He had let it slip to just enough people that he was only in Konoha for the day, and leaving soon, so that whoever questions Iruka or the bartender from last night will tell them as much, and while it’s not enough to throw off a more determined tracker, it might at least sow confusion.

Utakata has no plans to leave Konoha, though. Not yet. He’s here for a reason, and that reason is a thousand-year-old magical princess and vaguely reformed thief with a shapeshifting familiar.

How the hell he’s going to find Foxfire amidst the vastness of Konoha, among all the other heroes here, before someone manages to find _him_ —that’s something Utakata hasn’t really let himself think too deeply on yet.

Going to the other heroes is too much of a risk. They might decide he’s too dangerous, might hand him over to those after him. Or, if there are those with unscrupulous connections, what he’s carrying might end up in the wrong hands anyway. But—

But he has to try. Has to find Foxfire as soon as possible, and then hope she listens to him, has a solution.

It’s fairly terrible, as plans go, but it’s not as if Utakata has a plethora of options here.

Things would be easier if Foxfire was one of the heroes with a set territory, but she’s not. She’s not even visible most of the time, and there's still a lot of debate about whether she’s reformed. Kaleidoscope, nominally her partner and one of the more ruthless, black-and-white heroes, insists that she is, but they still don’t appear in the open all that often. It’s frustrating enough that Utakata's almost contemplated staging an attack, but knowing his luck he’d just draw the big five out of the woodwork, and Fury would promptly smash him into the pavement so hard he left a crater before he could get the first word out.

Still. Foxfire is a thief, even now, reclaiming Uzushio’s treasures from anyone stupid enough to try and keep them. Utakata just has to find out if there are any collectors still in the city, people who might not _advertise_ that they collect, and then hope he can stake them out long enough to find Foxfire without being captured himself.

It will work.

(It has to.)

From behind him, down the street, someone starts to laugh. Utakata turns on instinct, looking for other people, for the crowd, but there's a lull. One couple across the street, just about to turn the corner, several on the other side of the crosswalk, but no one close. No one but—

A woman. A woman with dull red hair and a grin full of sharp teeth, dressed in baggy clothes in greens and grey-blues, with a gym bag slung over one shoulder. She’s watching him, dark eyes intent, and when Utakata meets her gaze with panic flaring in his chest, she laughs again.

“Little prince, there you are,” she mocks, sickly-sweet, and reaches for her bag.

Utakata doesn’t wait for her to draw the pair of lightning-laced swords he knows she’s carrying. He turns on his heel and bolts, scrabbling through the pocket of his knapsack as he runs. His fingers skim inlaid wood, then catch it, and he yanks the pipe out, bringing it to his lips.

_Find your center. Find your will. One breath in, and then—_

Pale blue light blooms, sweeping out around him like soap bubbles, and Utakata twists, gets a foot on the wall of the building beside him, and pushes off hard. He leaps, landing on one bubble as it drifts skyward, then another, then a third. He lands there in a crouch, sweeps a hand behind him to scatter the orbs, and risks a glance back.

Ameyuri is on the balcony of the building behind him, still grinning, with her swords in hand. Electricity crackles between them, and she sweeps them around, brings them to bear, and cries with fierce glee, “Catch!”

A wave of lightning splits the sky, and Utakata can't do anything to stop it.


End file.
